Bill and the UFO13

Wendy played cards with a grim teeth-clenching determination, that she’d show everybody, that she’d win enough money to shut everybody up. At one point she was up £3.82. At another; only 58p up. She might have, ‘shot the pot,’ and showed them all, if it hadn’t start raining. The card game moved to underneath the boughs of an oak tree, just off the dirt path next to the burn. Most of the players weren’t dressed for slogging it out; even the cards buckled and stuck together.

Podolsky’s wide eyed grin, seemed to say, ‘there’s a sucker born every day,’ as he pocketed his winnings, but a pound note fell out of the flat cap as he melodramatically placed it on his head-after taking the coins out. Martin Monaghan’s ten bob black sannies quickly covered it as effectively as tar.

Wendy was counting out her winnings, 1p and 2p and 5p; 32p in total, as they made their way up towards the Park gates at Overtoun Road. She was so annoyed that she hadn’t got to the £1 note before Monaghan that she almost walked into Summy.

‘I’ll take that.’

A hand grabbed at the coins cupped in Wendy’s palm. Instinctively, she closed her hand and jerked her arm away. Some of the pennies bounced onto the grass and rolled away. Her first reaction was to fight or to run. She looked to Rab to see what to do, but an older boy with a putter, about a head bigger than him, with dull eyes, was going methodically through his pockets as if it was just another job. Rab looked down at the ground; refusing to meet Wendy’s eyes.

Summy and Phil were standing to the side of Rab, as if they were in a bus stop, waiting patiently for their turn to get their pockets turned out and their money stolen.

‘Pick that up.’ The boy that had stolen the money out of Wendy’s hand; the other boy had called him ‘Deasy’, had a squint in one eye, but was looking at her, daring her not to. He was about the same size as Wendy, and also had a putter.

It was obvious, to Wendy, that the two thieves had paid their 10p to get onto the putting green and just jumped over the hedge with the Council's finest putters. They might not have been much good for achieving a hole in one, but made first class offensive weapons. Dan the parkie was never there when needed.

Deasy stunk of fag breathe and unwashed denim and the way he pushed his thin white hand into Wendy’s side pockets made her wanted to puke.

‘Fuck off.’ Wendy pushed Deasy away and he stumbled, quickly righting himself and gripping his putter. She glanced at Rab, out of the corner of her eyes, but his eyes seemed fixated on the safety and warmth of The Café. She gave up then and let Deasy put his fingers in her other pocket and root around like a dentist, taking away the few coins she had left.

To Todger seeing someone fishing around in pockets meant only one thing: food. He bounded from behind the golf hut at the first tee and growled and snarled his delight, wanting a bit of the air, wanting a bit of everything. Bill ran clump footed, stumbling, behind him.

Deasy almost dropped his putter. ‘What will we dae Cammy?’

Cammy had already made his decision, his long legs swiftly taking him up towards the back entrance of Dalmuir Café. He’d heard all about these new Parky squads with mad raving dogs, and this one had appeared from nowhere, as if they’d been parachuted in.

Deasy retreated to safety of a park bench, jumping up with his club at the ready. He didn’t think he could outrun the dog.

‘It’s ok. He’s completely harmless.’ Bill called out.

Deasy stepped cautiously down from the safety of the bench. ‘You sure?’ he said.

‘Yeh. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ Bill was beaming at Deasy.

Todger ran towards Deasy and stopped. He didn’t smell of food. But he wasn’t sure. He made another run at him.

‘Fuck off,’ said Deasy, swinging the putter at Todger, but missing the dog by about four feet.

Cammy had turned and was cautiously walking back towards them. His putting iron partially hidden in the way he carried his arm, as if it was a splint.

‘What you doin’ That’s my dog.’ Bill didn’t sound peeved. He was just imparting information.

‘Hi!’ Rab shouted at Deasy, ‘that’s my mate.’

‘Kill,’ said Wendy to Todger.

Todger barked and barked and ran towards her. She looked as if she had food, but her fingers were flicking him away towards the foul smelling person, who didn’t look as if he had anything, but some kind of stick he kept waving about. Todger though it might be some kind of throwing game so he barked some more and ran towards Deasy.

‘Rip out his throat.’ Wendy was getting excited.

Deasy took a step back and the putter slammed through the air, just missing Todger.

‘Don’t,’ said Bill, ‘he won’t hurt anybody, just shout his name. Shout. Here Todger.’

Deasy squeaked out, a desultory, ‘here Todger.’ The dog ran up and licked at his hand.’

‘You’re no’ real,’ said Phil.

Bill was disorientated. Everybody was moaning at him, at the one time, as if it was his fault and not Todgers for not being a proper attack dog. When Cammy spun him around and went through his pockets it was almost a relief. Bill smaned. He’d nothing there. He’d hid his notes in his socks were aliens and muggers could never find them.

‘Why did you tell them the dog was friendly?’ Rab asked later, when they were going towards the split in the back lane between Overtoun and Ash.

‘Why didn’t you tell me they weren’t friendly?’ Bill’s reply was typically enigmatic. He was going up around Chestnut Avenue towards the back of the park towards the hills. Summy and Phil were sulking, talking to each other, going the other way. Wendy had said nothing. She had been schtum the whole time. Bill secretly hoped she would come with him. But she didn’t even look at him. Didn’t look at any of them. They might as well have been wearing those mad multicoloured jumpers and been golfers.